as if your fingers still
could leave their mark
upon the polished wood
as if your breath could
fog the glass as if
your massive frame
could somehow
crowd the room
you came again last night
softening to her side your voice
caressed the texture of her name
night escapes
morning shows her corners empty
like your place beside her
in the bed
the day is long and filled
with unkept promises
by the couch a table bears
the scar burned
by your cigarette the chair
is stained from where your head
lay for so long the closet
closes on your scent
~Susan A. Katz